


fill your lungs up

by waveridden



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Other, Season: Twilight Mirage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden
Summary: Gig shakes his head. “You can’t know someone based on what someone else puts online about them. I just know that you teach sign language lessons at preschools, and that you punched that one guy really hard.”
Relationships: Gig Kephart/Echo Reverie
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29
Collections: 2019 AU December Challenge





	fill your lungs up

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the AUcember series, a self-made challenge where I try to write a new AU one-shot every day. You can read all of the AUcember fics in the collection linked above. Title is from Losing Me by JD Cooper and Gabrielle Aplin.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING for a non-graphic description of an anxiety attack. Also, brief disclaimer that I wrote this on an airplane and did not have Google access, so if I get anything egregiously wrong re: hearing aids, please let me know.

The walls of the green room aren’t green.

Echo knows, because they’re looking very, very closely at one of them. They’re staring at the wall, which is definitely a shade of brown, and they can’t decide what to call the shade. Trying to figure it out is the only thing that’s preventing them from hyperventilating, so they’re very, very focused on it. It’s a weird kind of greyish brown - can brown be charcoal colored? No, charcoal is too dark. It’s something dustier, like taupe, although that’s not quite right either.

Someone is saying their name, they think. But their hearing aid is shut off, so it’s barely a distraction from the brown thing. It’s not tan, tan isn’t the right word, it’s too saturated. It’s not a particularly soothing color, this shade of brown. Blue is supposed to be soothing. For a strange, desperate second, they wish the walls were blue.

There’s a sudden motion in the corner of their eye. Echo startles and turns to see a man standing next to them, at a fair distance, but close enough that he could tap his hand on the wall in the corner of their eye. He says something, but unfortunately, Echo’s not looking at the wall, which means that suddenly their chest feels really tight, so they can’t quite focus on lip reading.

“Whoa,” the guy says, loud enough that Echo can sort of make it out. He visibly takes a breath and then lifts his hands in front of himself and says, in stumbling, clumsy sign language, “Sit down.”

Echo stares. Most people can’t do anything other than the alphabet.

“Sit down,” the guy repeats, and Echo suddenly remembers that there’s a chair behind them. They back up until they feel the back of their knees hit a chair, and then they collapse into it.

The guy takes a step closer. It’s not someone Echo recognizes, but they’ve met a lot of people today, university officials and other speakers and very serious people. They think they would remember this guy, though. He’s wearing a pastel yellow sport jacket, and what Echo can see of the rest of his outfit is also varying shades of yellow.

They end up staring as the guy drops into the seat next to them. They glance over and he says, still in unpracticed sign language, “Count to ten.”

“What?” Echo says out loud. Their voice is too high and too thin and this man might know sign language but he’s a stranger, and this would be embarrassing if they had the emotional capacity to be embarrassed. Right now, they’re just trying to get through this.

“Can you hear me?” the man says. Echo can, but only very faintly, so they end up just staring at him. He nods and lifts his hands in front of his face, all ten fingers spread out. “Count down,” he says, and folds one thumb in, then a finger. He moves slowly, and Echo finds themself mouthing the numbers as he counts down.

As soon as he’s down to zero, the man signs, “Okay?”

Echo lets out a breathy laugh and turns on their hearing aid. The world rushes back to them, and they force themself to breath through it. “Sorry,” they say, forcing their voice to be steady. “It - am I on?”

“Nope,” the guy says, and sits back in his chair. “You’ve got another twenty minutes or something like that. But one of my guys mentioned that you seemed nervous, so I figured I’d check in.”

“Oh,” Echo says. They’re surprised, although they’re not quite sure why. “One of… your guys?”

“Oh!” He waves. “Gig Kephart, university admissions. I’m not the one putting on this whole shebang, but I am the one making sure it goes over okay.”

“What does admissions have to do with disability access?”

“Nothing specific, but I’m here as a favor to a friend. And it’s something that’s important, you know? Gotta make sure that everyone is able to apply for school, if they want to.”

Echo nods slowly. “I, uh, I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” Gig says, with a staggering amount of sincerity. Echo blinks in surprise, but Gig just leans in a fraction. “If you can’t do this, we have a lot of guests lined up. Everyone will understand.”

“No,” Echo says, a little too sharply. Gig doesn’t react hardly at all, but they force themself to take a deep breath. “It… this is something that’s important to me. It’s not often I get huge audiences like this.”

The invitation to the university symposium had seemed like a dream. Echo’s been doing disability activism, independently and with nonprofits, for years now. But there’s a huge difference between a viral tweet and actually speaking in front of people about their life and their disability. They thought they were equipped to handle it; it turns out that maybe they weren’t.

Gig just nods. “Well, uh, if you need water or something, I can run and get you a glass, or get you a good speaker so you can play some music or-”

“Can you stay?” Echo asks abruptly. “Unless you have… you know, other guests or something that you need to check on.”

“Not right now,” Gig says. He has incredibly kind eyes, Echo notices. “I can stick around for a while. Hey, can I ask you something?” He waits for Echo to nod, and then leans in, very seriously. “How was the sign language?”

“Not bad,” Echo says, and Gig visibly brightens. “I mean, I can tell you’re not fluent or anything, but it seems like you know a thing or two.”

“More like a thing or five.” He grins. “Something like that, anyways. I used to be a social worker, and I learned it for one of the kids.”

“A social worker?” Echo repeats. Gig kind of seems like he’d be good with kids, or at the very least good with people in crisis. “How do you end up in university work?”

“There are a lot of good social workers out there,” Gig says easily. “I decided I wanted to leave, and I kind of just fell into this afterwards. The university’s been pretty good about, like, letting me make changes. I worked with a lot of kids who need the system to be different in order to go to school, and it’s not like college is the be-all end-all, but it’s still something that’s important to a lot of people.”

“I never went to college,” Echo admits.

“I only went because they tend not to let you be a social worker without a degree. Thought it’d be worth it.”

“Was it?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Good,” Echo says. They’re surprised by how much they mean it, too. “And now you get to volunteer at events.”

“And meet cool people,” Gig points out. “Is it weird to say that I’m a fan of yours?”

Echo leans back, suddenly flustered. “It’s not weird,” they say, and then pause. “I mean, it’s a little weird. I always forget that I’m online.”

He nods in understanding. “I’m a very online person, so I’m online enough that I know that someone else does your social media.”

“I have social media?”

“You have social media.”

“What,” Echo says. Iota must run it for them, but she’s never said anything to them about it. They don’t exactly ask a lot of questions about that side of things. They’ve always preferred being the legwork part of the equation. “And you… know me from it?”

“Absolutely not,” Gig says, surprisingly firm. “You can’t know someone based on what someone else puts online about them. I just know that you teach sign language lessons at preschools, and that you punched that one guy really hard.”

“I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

“About the preschools?”

“About who I punched.”

Gig laughs delightedly. “See, there you go! Tell me about all the people you’ve punched.”

“Gig,” Echo says seriously, “I’ve punched a lot of people.”

“That’s cool,” Gig says, completely unfazed. “I’ve punched a few people - not a lot, I wouldn’t say, but more than three.”

“That’s more than most people punch.”

“Have you punched more than three?”

“Yeah, but they all deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt it. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders.”

Echo shudders. “That’s what everyone says, but it never feels like I actually know what I’m doing.”

“But you know why you’re doing it, right?”

“Most days.”

“Good,” Gig says. He doesn’t say anything after that, and Echo lets the silence stretch out. It’s kind of comforting now that they know a little bit about Gig. He seems not just friendly but warm, in a way that Echo wasn’t expecting to encounter today.

After a little bit, they glance at Gig. “Why’s it called a green room?”

“Dunno,” Gig says thoughtfully. “The walls are taupe, and they’re pretty ugly beige too.”

“Beige,” Echo says, more loudly than they mean to. Gig gives them a strange look, and they sigh. “I was trying to avoid freaking out by thinking about colors, and figure out the color of the wall.”

“And you forgot beige?”

“It’s a pretty forgettable color.”

“You must not think about colors that often.”

“I do needlework, actually,” Echo says. Gig tilts his head curiously, eyes sparking, and Echo sighs and reaches into their bag. “This is a gift for my sister,” they say, and pull out the denim jacket they’re working on. There’s a galaxy outlined on the back, all in purple and sunset orange with white starbursts. “I’ve been trying to get all the purple done, but it’s kind of a mess right now.”

Gig whistles lowly, leaning in to get a better look. “Wow,” he says softly, and it sounds so genuine that Echo nearly blushes. “You’re really good at that.”

“I’m still working on it.”

“It’s still good,” he says firmly. “Seems like you know your way around a needle.”

“I try.”

“You do more than try.” Gig reaches out, and his eyes flick to Echo for a second. They nod, and his fingers brush against the embroidery. “How long has this taken?”

“A week or two so far.”

“All this in a week or two?”

Echo shrugs. They know they’re good at a few things - at fighting physically, at stringing together an argument, and reading lips - but they’re not used to people acting like it’s exceptional. “Everyone needs a hobby, right?”

“Guess so.” Gig grins up at them, and Echo finds themself grinning back reflexively. “Even if you don’t use beige very much.”

“Why would I use beige, out of all the colors in the world?”

“Some situations you need a little beige.”

“And some situations you need yellow, right?”

Gig straightens the lapels on his coat and tilts his head at Echo. “I need a little sunshine in my life,” he says, and it’s just coy enough that Echo realizes abruptly that it’s flirting. Gig is _flirting._

They take a deep breath. “So, uh, I’m pretty early on in this whole string of speakers, right?”

“Yeah, you are, why?”

“How long is your volunteer shift?”

Gig’s eyebrows begin to climb up his face, but he looks delighted. “As soon as your speech is over, actually.”

“Great,” Echo says. God, they can’t lose their nerve now, they can’t leave this hanging. “Did you, uh…”

“Yeah?” Gig says. It’s encouraging, but not in a way that feels condescending or indulgent. Like he wants Echo to do this.

Echo smiles. “Wanna get dinner after?”

“God, absolutely,” Gig says fervently. “I’ll tell you cute stories about kids if you tell me how it is that you don’t stab yourself literally all the time when you’re sewing.”

“Deal,” Echo says, and Gig lights up. They can’t help but relax into their seat after this. “You gonna be volunteering while I’m talking?”

“No way, I wanna see you in your element.”

“This really isn’t my element. I went through, like, forty drafts before coming up with what I’m talking about today.”

“You’ll do fine,” Gig says easily. “Tell me all about the other drafts during dinner.”

“I will,” Echo says. And they’re surprised by how much they want to.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk about gig/echo with me on Tumblr/Twitter @waveridden!


End file.
